“But what about Lucy? She might say something.”
Sebastian shook his head to dispel the guilt that nagged at him like the buzzing of a particularly annoying fly. “Not she. She won’t think it her place.”
“That’s so.” Hal scratched his head. “This business of yours—might it improve our situation in any way?”
“Perhaps.”
“Then good luck and Godspeed to you, brother.”
Chapter Nine
The Almont grooms were happy to saddle an aging chestnut gelding strong enough to bear Sebastian’s weight and phlegmatic enough to not overly challenge a rider with a sore leg. Soon he was on the horse’s back, wincing a little as he mounted, and setting off at a gentle canter for Orchard Park.
He knew he was acting dishonorably toward Lucy, and it troubled him, but he didn’t know what else to do. Hal’s foolishness and irresponsibility had driven them all to the brink of ruin. It wasn’t Sebastian’s fault, and if all went well he might prove the family’s savior.
It was for Lucy’s own good, truly. Marriage to an impoverished lieutenant who couldn’t even afford to purchase promotion was no life for a delicate, gently reared girl. Lucy’s constitution wasn’t strong enough for life in the succession of shabby, drafty rented rooms that would be all he could offer her. Why, if he married her now, with no money at all, it might ruin her health and drive her to an early grave. This was the best way, the best way for all of them.
The previous evening Miss Wright-Gordon had mentioned that she planned to spend part of the afternoon with Miss Goodridge. Sebastian hoped he would find her with her friend or on her way back rather than at Orchard Park. He wanted to speak to her alone, informally, without going through the ceremony of asking her uncle for permission to pay his addresses.
That too was irregular, but under the circumstances he thought it best. He didn’t want to deal with uncomfortable questions about his prospects before he’d made his offer, and he knew he had a better chance of securing Lord Dunmalcolm’s consent if Miss Wright-Gordon had already given her own. She had told him, laughing, that her uncle could never bear to deny her anything she begged for earnestly enough.
His luck was in. As he rode into view of the Goodridge cottage, he spotted Miss Wright-Gordon and Miss Goodridge talking together in the front garden. A servant led a small, elegant bay mare from the stables and boosted Miss Wright-Gordon into the saddle. She waved farewell to her friend, turned the mare toward the road—and spotted Sebastian.
“Lieutenant Arrington!” she called. “How delightful to see you.”
He reined the gelding down to a walk and fell in alongside her, admiring her impeccable posture in the saddle and the way her bottle-green habit revealed her voluptuous figure and made her eyes even greener than normal. To think that he might soon be married to such a creature!
“Good afternoon, Miss Wright-Gordon,” he said. “What a beautiful beast your mare is.”
“Isn’t she, though?” She patted the bay’s neck, and the mare pranced a bit. “And well she knows it, too.”
The mare, though faultless in conformation, was only about fourteen hands, perfect for a lady but far too small for him. As Sebastian was over a foot taller than Miss Wright-Gordon and was mounted on a horse several hands taller than hers, he found himself staring at the green-feathered plume of her military-style hat until she looked up at him again. “I wouldn’t mind having one like her to take with me when I sail,” he said, “though I doubt she’d bear my weight.”
She smiled and shook her head. “I suppose not, though these Arabs are hardy creatures and far stronger than they look. But my brother would never countenance selling any of his for cavalry mounts—perhaps it isn’t patriotic of him, but he says he doesn’t breed them to starve or become cannon fodder.”
Sebastian shifted in his saddle. “I understand his view, though I certainly hope all our officers take proper care of their horses.”
“I’m sure you do. At least, I know Alec would never neglect a horse, and I trust that you would not. Is this the first time you’ve ridden since your injury?”
He nodded. “Yes. I’m not sure the surgeon would fully approve, but there’s almost no pain. I’m very glad I rode out when I did. I was hoping to find you.”
She dimpled and looked up at him with shining eyes. “You were?”
His heart pounded. The moment had arrived, and all his hopes must stand or fall by what passed in the next few minutes. “I have something particular to ask you, you see.”
Her smile widened to display perfectly even white teeth, and her eyes shone yet brighter. “You do?”
He weighed his words. Even without Hal’s troubles, such a well-connected heiress would be an unusually great match for the younger brother of a baronet, and he wanted to show exactly the appropriate degree of humility—but not one whit beyond it. He hardly wished her to be so conscious of her superiority that she refused him. “You must be aware,” he began, “how very fervently I admire you.”
She blushed a delightful faint pink, then looked down and back up again. “I’d certainly hoped you did,” she said with a nervous laugh.
They had been riding very slowly, and now they allowed the horses to stop and lower their heads to the grassy verge of the road.
“Well, I do,” he said. “Very much so. And…perhaps I presume too much upon a short acquaintance—perhaps I presume too much in any case—but I must return to my regiment soon, and wartime forces a certain impatience upon a soldier.” He swallowed. “Miss Wright-Gordon, would you do me the very great honor of becoming my wife?”
She seemed frozen between laughter and tears, and she lifted her hand to her mouth. “Why, Lieutenant Arrington, I’d be delighted, I’d love—”
He lifted a hand to forestall her. “Don’t answer yet. There’s one more thing I must tell you.” He’d planned this, too, on the ride over. Not only must he secure her consent before asking her guardian’s, he must tell her enough of Hal’s circumstances that she couldn’t claim he’d deceived her and back out of the engagement once his brother’s ruin became common knowledge.
“Yes? What is it?” she asked, eyes now wide and anxious.
“You are probably aware,” he said carefully, “that I am not by any means a wealthy man.”
She waved a hand in dismissal. “As if I cared a jot for that.”
“No, hear me out. It’s worse than you think. It isn’t widely known yet, but my older brother has found himself in greatly reduced circumstances. In fact, he’s head over ears in debt.”
She didn’t hesitate. “I’m very sorry to hear that, but it doesn’t change my answer. Yes. Yes, I will marry you.”
His relief overwhelmed him, almost dazed him. “Miss Wright-Gordon, you have made me the happiest of men.”
“Please call me Anna.” Her eyes fairly gleamed.
“Anna,” he said. “And you must call me Sebastian.” He reached across to take her hand and leaned down in the saddle until he could kiss it.
“Will you ride to Orchard Park with me, and speak to my uncle? I’m certain he’ll consent, but the formalities must be observed.”
“Of course,” he said. Miss Wright-Gordon—Anna!—gathered her reins and spoke to her mare, who obediently ceased grazing and began to walk again, and Sebastian followed.
“As for your family,” she said. “I cannot make any promises, since the settlements are a matter for my uncle and the lawyers, but my fortune is a hundred thousand pounds, you know.”
Yes, he knew.
“So I can’t imagine that we couldn’t give your family any assistance that is wanted.”
“Hal made grave errors of judgment,” Sebastian said. It was true, and in any case he didn’t want Anna to have any reason to think he was marrying her only for her money. “It wouldn’t be right for him to not suffer any of the consequences.”
“You are a vindictive brother,” she said in accents of mild surprise and disapproval. “Perhaps it would be as well if he knew he
would never be bailed out again, but I would not be opposed to assisting him this one time, as a wedding present. I certainly would not wish to see the rest of your family suffer for his actions.”
“You are too generous,” he said, inwardly rejoicing.
“I offer no guarantees,” she said, “but I’ll plead your family’s case before my uncle, and he does generally give me whatever I wish. I suppose I’ve become rather spoiled,” she said archly.
“On the contrary. I’m certain you’re completely unspoiled.”
They rounded a bend in the road and approached Orchard Park. Sebastian began rehearsing his case for the more challenging audience of his intended’s guardian.
Luckily Lucy made it into the castle and upstairs to her bedroom without spotting anyone other than a footman or two, who, whatever they thought of her tear-bright eyes and headlong flight, maintained properly impassive facades.
How could Hal do it? How could he have been such a fool, with the responsibilities of a family and all of Swallowfield’s tenants in his hands, to first fritter his slim fortune away at gaming hells and racetracks, and then to risk everything on one mad scheme to recover it?
When he had said they could not afford charity any longer, it had struck her like a blow. She knew, of course, that she and her brothers were utterly dependent upon the Arringtons, that in fact they were charity cases. Yet they were more. They were family. Surely that should count for something.
What was to become of Owen? Gentle, devout Owen who could hardly wait to begin at Oxford, who was so perfectly formed for the country vicarage life he had been brought up to believe was his destiny? He would never be happy as a clerk, but perhaps if he could get a job as a secretary to some gentleman, ideally one of scholarly, retiring disposition…
She shook her head fiercely. It wasn’t fair. What would become of Rhys, if he had to stop his education at thirteen? He wasn’t like her or Owen; his was a wilder, more adventurous disposition. He had always longed for a midshipman’s berth or an officer’s commission. But it took money to begin and even more to advance. Rhys would not be happy in any sedentary role. Lucy wouldn’t put it past him to run away and enlist as a common soldier or volunteer for a man-of-war’s crew.
And as for herself…she supposed Sebastian must still mean to marry her, since he had not spurned her when she’d given him the chance a few days ago. Perhaps she ought to offer him his freedom again, but she could not bring herself to do so, not when he was not only her beloved but the closest thing to security she had. Far better to have the permanence of marriage than to be subject to Hal’s and Aunt Arrington’s whims.
It would not be an easy life, married to a subaltern with nothing to live on but his pay and with no hope of purchasing a captaincy. Of course, there was a war on, and at such times an officer could rise without purchase, if vacancies occurred frequently enough that they must be filled by seniority alone. But she could not wish for a bloody war, for Sebastian’s superiors to die for the sake of his promotion. Especially when she considered that one of his senior officers was Lord Selsley’s cousin and Lord Dunmalcolm’s son. She shuddered, almost fearing that she had cursed Major Gordon by realizing that she might benefit from his death.
After a time she felt so exhausted with grief and fears that she removed her half boots, climbed into her tall, canopied bed, and fell into a fitful sleep.
She awakened to a pounding on her door and Sebastian’s voice. “Lucy? Lucy? I know you’re in there. I must speak with you.”
She sat up, lost in the confused fog that accompanied sleeping too long in the daytime, and made her way to the door. It didn’t seem right, and certainly wasn’t like Sebastian, to come to her room himself rather than sending a servant to summon her to a more public place. But in her half-dazed state, she simply opened the door to him.
He seemed even taller than normal, and she realized with a blush that she was in her stocking feet. “What is it, Sebastian?” she asked.
“Lucy. You were asleep. I beg your pardon—I did not realize. You aren’t usually one to sleep during the day.”
“It isn’t a usual sort of day,” she said. She was becoming more awake, and the shock of Hal’s ruin filled her mind again.
“No, I don’t suppose it is,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “May I come in? There’s something I need to discuss with you.”
She stepped backward reflexively, aware of her unshod feet peeping from beneath her rumpled skirts, of the half-unmade bed behind her. “Surely it would be better if we spoke in the drawing room or the garden,” she said.
He shook his head and pushed past her into the room. “There’s no one about to see, and in any case, we grew up almost like brother and sister.”
Lucy’s blood chilled. He had not said, It does not matter because we’ll be married soon. Resigned, she shut the door but stayed by it, her hand tightly gripping the handle.
Sebastian strode to the window and stared out at the hills. “I’m sure you understand that Hal’s news changes everything for the entire family,” he said.
Lucy clenched her jaw. “How could I not?” she said, surprised at the sharp anger in her voice.
He turned to look at her, his eyebrows lifted. “Of course. Of course. Well…that is…under the circumstances, it is no longer possible for us to marry. For two people without any fortune or prospects to enter into matrimony would be insupportable. Inexcusable.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to say she would not mind waiting, that perhaps in a few years his circumstances might improve. But pride—a pride she had not before suspected she had—forestalled her.
“You do understand, don’t you, Lucy?” Sebastian said anxiously.
She swallowed. “I suppose.”
“Good, good. I’m glad. It’ll be for the best, you’ll see. It would be no life for you, trying to subsist on a lieutenant’s salary.”
Small as a lieutenant’s salary was, it was more than she and her brothers had left to them now. She simply stared at Sebastian, amazed at her own calm.
“Since it was never announced, there need be no embarrassment. I am certain my mother will never speak of it to anyone.”
Oh, yes, Lucy was quite sure of that, too.
“And, you see…Miss Wright-Gordon has done me the great honor of agreeing to become my wife.”
What? He had offered for Miss Wright-Gordon before breaking his engagement with her? Lucy shook, but she didn’t feel faint or heartbroken. Instead she quivered with a rage unlike anything she had felt in nearly ten years, since the day she had been beaten at the workhouse and had begun to learn to hide behind a meek, calm façade.
“Leave,” she heard herself say in a low, brittle voice. “Leave at once.”
“But, Lucy! Surely you understand. You offered yourself to end the engagement if I preferred to court her.”
“You should not be in this room. You are engaged to another woman. It is in every way improper.”
He bowed his head. “Of course. You are quite right. Only—you won’t speak of it to anyone, will you, Lucy?”
“Why would I? What would I possibly gain?”
“You give me your word? You’ll never tell?”
“Yes, yes, I give you my word!” she said impatiently as she flung open the door. Prudence compelled her to glance quickly up and down the corridor. There was no one in sight. “Now, go at once.”
Obediently he walked to the door and paused there for a moment. “Lucy—I do realize—I owe you my deepest apologies.”
“Go.”
He went.
Lucy shut the door firmly behind him and sagged against it. Now she was weak, now she was tearful. How could he? How could the Sebastian she had always so admired and loved, the man she had always believed to be the model of a gentleman, have treated her so? Did he not realize that if he had come to her openly and said that both his sentiments and circumstances had changed, that he must follow both heart and interest to Miss Wright-Gordon, that she would hav
e granted him his freedom? It would have been difficult, it would have broken her heart, but it would have been honest and honorable.
Now she could hardly believe that a mere fortnight ago she had thought all her dreams might come true, and that until early that very afternoon she had been contented with her lot in life. She’d had the promise of a husband and the hope he’d forget Miss Wright-Gordon—and she Lord Selsley—after they left Gloucestershire behind. She’d been confident that her brothers were provided for.
Now—what was to become of any of them? Sebastian was marrying a rich woman, it was true, but Lucy somehow doubted provision for the Joneses would be included in the marriage settlements. In any case, she didn’t want Miss Wright-Gordon’s money. She nonetheless knew she would take it if it were offered. She and her brothers could not afford the pride of refusal. But it humiliated her to think that all her hopes for a secure future depended on the lady who had stolen her betrothed.
When she was calm enough to do so, she rang for her maid and told her that she was feeling ill and would not be going down to dinner. Molly fussed over her and brought her one of Cook’s potions guaranteed to cure the headache. Lucy drank it meekly. She did have an aching head, though she was not sure a headache brought on by weeping could be cured in the same way as an ordinary one. She then submitted to Molly’s assertion that she must be a little hungry and allowed the maid to bring her a tray of broth and toast. But she determined to stay in her room until after tomorrow night’s ball. She would not watch Sebastian and Miss Wright-Gordon dance together, nor hear the guests exclaim and congratulate them upon their betrothal. It was too much to be borne.
James didn’t get an opportunity to talk to his aunt or uncle about his worries about Sebastian Arrington. His morning correspondence contained both business and political matters that needed his immediate attention, and then he got word that one of his tenants, a shepherd, had been injured, and he rode out to visit the man and make sure he received proper care.
A Marriage of Inconvenience Page 13
